


all the glory that the lord has made (the complications when you see his face)

by wewhofightmonsters



Category: Mononoke-hime | Princess Mononoke, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Friendship, M/M, and a castle in the sky au, and it's about damn time someone added my fave miyazaki film to the list, i've seen a howl's moving castle au, it's princess mononoke meets TAZ
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-11 04:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewhofightmonsters/pseuds/wewhofightmonsters
Summary: In the early days of the world, a young prince Kravitz is exiled from his people after an encounter with a powerful Beast God, cursed and blessed with a terrible destiny. His travels take him to lands far to the west, where rumors tell of ancient forests filled with monsters, and the Great Forest Spirit who rules over them all.(he also meets resident hot elf babe Taako and falls in dumb big gay stupid love i guess idk)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, folks, yeah, uhhhhhhhh i don't really have a good excuse for this one? my lizard brain thought it would be a good idea i guess. literally copied and pasted the first part straight from PM because it's fuckin' cool as shit but the rest of it is pretty different from the original.   
> this is also gonna be anachronistic as hell, but it's TAZ, so no big surprises there.   
> title is taken from a Sufjan Stevens song I was listening to on repeat all weekend.
    
    
    _In ancient times, the land
    
    lay covered in forests,_
    
    
    _where, from ages long past,
    
    dwelt the spirits of the gods._
    
    
    
    _Back then, man and beast
    
    lived in harmony,_  
    
      
    
    _but as time went by, most
    
    of the great forests were destroyed._
    
    
    
    _Those that remained were guarded
    
    by gigantic beasts..._
    
    
    
    _who owed their allegiance
    
    to the Great Forest Spirit,_
    
    
    
    _for those were the days
    
    of gods and demons._

 

 

 

 

i.

 

 

The sun rises just the same; on the day the Old God comes. Kravitz will wonder at it, later, that all the world could remain unchanged at the arrival of his destiny, but at this moment he knows nothing but the unsettling quiet of the forest, and the tense, stifling pall that has hung over his village like a thick cloud of smoke for more than a day now. Even Macha is uneasy, shifting beneath him and tossing her gleaming antlers, the whites of her eyes rolling slightly. He murmurs to her soothingly, stroking his hand down her neck. From back in the direction of the village, a scout on horseback appears, drawing alongside Kravitz a hundred yards or so away from the tree line.

“Report?” Kravitz says, quietly, his eyes still trained on the forest’s edge.

“We’ve gathered everyone we could find to the meeting hall, my prince,” Roan replies, “there’s no sign of trouble yet, but Lady Istus says it doesn’t sit right with her; the silence. Unnatural.”

“Have you found-” Kravitz breaks off, tightening his grip on the reins, his eyes narrowing at a flock of birds that have sprung up suddenly above the trees, disturbed by something moving in the woods.

“Roan,” He grits out, sliding his scythe off his back and spinning it once, “whatever it is, it’s nearly here. Go back now, gather the others. I’m going to need help.”

Roan hesitates, for a brief moment.

“My prince, I won’t abandon-”

“GO!” Kravitz roars, and the trees at the edge of the clearing explode. A bear emerges, the largest Kravitz has ever seen, scarred and towering and frothing at the mouth, blood flecked foam cresting teeth the length of his fore-arm. As it thunders towards them, the grass beneath its massive paws withers and dies.

“NOW, Roan!” he shouts, and with a nudge of his heels Macha leaps into flight, galloping towards the creature swift as an arrow.

“Oh great lord of beasts!” Kravitz calls as he draws level with the bear, “The people of this village have no quarrel with your kind! Please leave us in peace!”

The bear doesn’t answer, and gives no sign that it’s heard him at all, its eyes blood red and empty. Reluctantly, Kravitz swings his scythe at the bear’s neck, a deadly silver arc that cleaves through its flesh. As the blade makes contact with the bear, tar black ooze spills out and latches onto his arm like something living. Kravitz screams, unable to help himself; the pain of just that simple touch is unlike anything he has ever experienced, bone deep and consuming. There’s a whistling sound to his right, and he gathers what little strength he has left to jerk Macha’s reins and pull her away from the bear as three arrows shriek by and fell the great beast at last. He dismounts and sees what looks like the entire village running towards them, Lady Istus and Roan leading the charge.

“Stay back, all of you,” Istus cries as she approaches, “Kravitz! Did the beast god touch you?”

“Yes,” he chokes, clutching at his arm and falling to his knees in the long meadow grass as she approaches, carrying an earthen jar.

“Hold out your arm,” she orders, and pours the water from the jar carefully over the wound.

“This will cleanse the evil,” she says, but her forehead is still wrinkled with concern. As the black goo sloughs away, Kravitz can see that the fabric of his shirt has been eaten away, and the skin underneath it branded with a livid, twining rope of purpling welts. Swallowing down the bile in his throat at the sight, he struggles to his feet.

“Bring shovels!” he cries to his people, “Salt and sage, also. We must give this Lord of Beasts the rites and passages he is due, and erect a mound for him, or our land will be cursed until the dying days of the earth!”

Beside him, Istus raises a trembling hand and points to the fallen beast.

“My prince…” she whispers, and Kravitz sees that the flesh and skin of the bear have melted away, as though they were never there to begin with, leaving behind a twisted skeleton; the bones of its face still, somehow, captured in a sneer of pure, blind hatred.

 

~*~

 

In the evening, when the moon is bright and high, and after he and his people have toiled ceaselessly to send the Old God to the under-realm in peace, Kravitz kneels before the council of elders in the meeting hall. His arm has been carefully wrapped, the marks hidden away, but he can feel every set of eyes in the room linger on the clean white bandages.

Istus sits before him, and there is an ocean of sorrow in her eyes so deep that Kravitz thinks he may drown, looking into them.

“Are you prepared to hear your fate, my prince?” she asks, quietly, and Kravitz nods once, sharply.

“Yes, my lady. I was prepared the moment I let my scythe fall.”

Istus pulls her stones of foresight from the pouch around her waist, and lets them tumble to the floor.

“The stones have shown me that this great bear god came from a distant land, far to the west. He was driven mad by some kind of sickness inside him, a poisonous hatred that ate him alive and transformed him into a demon.”

She hesitates, for the briefest of moments, and then seems to steel herself.

“Prince Kravitz, show the council your right arm.”

His stomach turned to lead; Kravitz obeys, holding out his right arm and unwinding the linens, displaying the horrific scars banded there like a great serpent. There are low, fearful gasps and murmurs from the other council members.

“What does it mean?” Lord Bram asks, leaning forward from his seat on the dais.

“This is an ancient curse, a thing of great evil,” Istus replies, her voice heavy and somber, “the stones have told me that this curse will spread throughout your whole body, flesh and bone. You will suffer my prince, the life fading from you a little more each day, until you become a creature not of this world. A being doomed to walk the shadowy boundary between the living and the dead until time is no more.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Bram cries, his kind face pained, “Kravitz is our prince, the last and purest of our blood!”

“He got this wound protecting his people and his land, it isn’t right!” Lady Nuada argues, and room descends into uproar. Kravitz feels warmed, a little, at the love and concern his people have shown for him time and time again, and yet. His destiny has come to call. A lesser man than he would be hard pressed to fight it.

“You cannot change the course of your fate, my prince,” Istus confirms, gently, and a hush falls over the hall, “and yet you may ride out to meet it, if you desire. Look at this,”

She tosses a round object onto the floor in front of Kravitz, a cruel, jagged ball of iron, like nothing he has seen in this land or any.

“This was found inside the belly of the bear,” Istus says, as Kravitz reaches out to take it, “it pierced through his bones and burrowed deep inside him, turning him into a demon.” She stands from her place at the head of the table, and approaches, placing a curved dagger of bone in front of him.

“There is great evil at work in the lands to the west, Prince Kravitz,” she says, with grim assurance, “I don’t know if it’s the doing of the Emperor, or if there’s something else at work, but the stones have spoken. It is your destiny to go there and reunite them, the Twins. Creation and destruction, two halves made whole. Only then can balance be restored to our world.”

She kneels down before him and leans as close as she can. Kravitz can see how much she wants to touch him, to hold him, but she keeps herself back with some effort.

“You may find a way to lift this curse. Do you understand?”

Kravitz looks at her, the woman who raised him, and finds his only wish is that he could wipe away the tears coursing down her cheeks.

“I understand, my lady.” He replies, simply, and Istus turns from him in her grief, unable to look upon him as he takes up the dagger to cut his hair, banishing himself from his land, and his family, forever. Decades ago, before Kravitz’s father, or even grandfather had been born, the Emperor and his armies had crushed a race of proud and noble people, driving what was left of their tribe far away east, into the mountains in hiding. And now Kravitz, the last prince of his kind, is lost to his people forever. His gleaming dark braids fall to the floor with finality, and he stands, his newly shorn head feeling as fragile as a bird’s.

“Our laws forbid us from watching you leave, Kravitz,” Istus says from behind him as he throws open the great oak doors to the night, “whatever happens now, you are alone. Farewell, my son.”

  

Macha comes to him, her tawny coat and antlers reflecting the moonlight, and noses at his elbow, sensing his distress.

“At least I have you, girl,” he whispers, taking her great face in his hands and pressing his forehead to hers, before leaping lightly onto her bare back. With nothing but his scythe and a gleaming bone knife strapped to his side, he rides forward into the woods, head light and heart heavy, to greet his fate with dignity.

 

~*~ 

 

The journey through the Northern mountain ridge is pleasant, all things considered. The woods are quiet here, and peaceful, the animals take little notice of his passing. One night as he sits by his carefully constructed fire, a family of red elk approach to greet Macha, curious but unafraid. For three days the two of them continue this way, and Kravitz begins to wonder how the whisperings of unrest and evil work could possibly be true. Then, on the fourth day, Kravitz descends a final mountain, and finds himself in a blackened, war torn valley. There are no trees, here, nothing at all of green, it’s all been burned and chopped and scoured away. The land looks ugly, like a festering wound, and he feels Macha tense beneath him as they ride. In the distance, a village rises up to meet them, many times larger than Kravitz’s own tiny mountain home, thick black smoke rising from it like a cloud of flies. The Emperor has been here, Kravitz thinks darkly as he draws near, his men are everywhere, the blood red insignia on their armor unmistakable As Kravitz approaches the gate to the city, he sees a massive pit dug in the ground by the roadside, blackened corpses piled high inside. The smell is almost enough to make Kravitz ill, and he realizes some of the smoke at least, is from the burning of these poor souls. The plague has been here. There are six or seven guards at the gate, tall, mean looking men who have seen battle, most of them missing teeth, an ear, even an finger or two. They eye Macha, and then his scythe, with suspicion, but wave him through after he pays the entrance fee.

Inside the gates Kravitz is overwhelmed with how beaten-down the people look, hungry and desperate, scurrying along like frightened mice past the Emperor’s soldiers. He buys a small, mealy apple and half a loaf of bread from a gaunt, dead eyed woman in the market, and goes to search for a quiet place to eat his lunch; Macha trailing along behind him, her ears darting from side to side in agitation. He turns down an alleyway past the market square, and as his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, they immediately catch frenzied movement a few dozen yards ahead, behind a large pile of crates.

“Macha, stay,” he whispers, holding up a hand in warning, and creeps forward, drawing his scythe as he does. He’s close enough now to hear voices, one high pitched in panic, and four or five others growing louder and increasingly angry.

“I don’t know anything, I swear to you-”

“To lie to the Emperor’s men is to lie to the Emperor himself, you cur!” A man snarls, and Kravitz hears a fleshy thud, and a groan of pain.

“We saw you coming in here, with your witches potions,” another voice says, menacing, and there is the distinct sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath, “tell us where to find the Great Forest Spirit, or your life is forfeit!”

“Stop!” Kravitz cries, springing forward past the crates to find five of the Emperor’s soldiers, three with swords drawn, menacing a stout, frightened young man, dangling between the two other guards and bleeding from the mouth.

“Cowards!” Kravitz spits, twirling his scythe, “Five of you attacking one unarmed man, is this the Emperor’s work?”

“A warrior!” the man who had spoken first cries, “His head is mine!”

He leaps forward, the others close behind him, and as Kravitz begins to raise his weapon, he feels a nameless power stirring deep inside him, like a swimmer rising to the surface of a lake. His right arm begins to tremble, the cursed mark burning as hot and painful as it had the first time, and Kravitz feels a surge of inhuman strength.

“Stay back,” he cries, “I’m warning you!” but the men don’t listen. The first that approaches is the first to die, his head cleft from his body as easily as slicing through a strand of wheat. In horror, the other soldiers turn to flee, but Kravitz does not belong to himself now, he belongs to a power beyond his will. His hands move of their own accord, swinging his scythe and cutting them down without mercy, and Kravitz catches his own reflection for just a moment in a copper water barrel, and fancies that his face has become a grinning human skull. Then, the dust settles, and there is only Kravitz, the young man, trembling on the ground, and five bodies.

“Are you injured?” Kravitz asks, setting aside his horror, and after a brief pause, the young man shakes his head.

“Nothing serious,” he says, struggling to his feet and wiping the blood away from his split lip, “but thank you. If you hadn’t come when you did, I’d be a goner for sure. I’m Barry Bluejeans, and what… _who_ the hell are you?”

“My name is Kravitz, I am a traveller from lands far to the east of here. Why were the Emperor’s men after you?”

“I have no idea,” Barry replies, honestly, shaking his head, “I came from the west, looking for an old friend of mine, but a plague had stricken this village, and I stayed to help cure the sick; I’m in training to be a healer. These men,” he nudges one of the bodies with his foot, a grimace on his round face, “have been following me for a few days now, asking me questions about-” he breaks off, biting his bit, his eyes shifting to the side.

“About the Great Forest Spirit,” Kravitz finishes, quietly, “but why would men like this take interest in a spirit?”

Barry hesitates, and searching Kravitz’s face, he must find something there he trusts.

“There are rumors,” he begins, and then there are shouts on the street outside, and the sound of thick boots against cobblestones.

“The city guard,” Barry stammers, his face going white, “there’s way too many for even you to fight, if they catch me here…”

“Go,” Kravitz interrupts, calling Macha to him and swinging up onto her back, “and if I were you, Barold Bluejeans, I would not come back to this place again.”

Barry bites nervously at his lip again, and nods once.

“Thank you, Kravitz from the east,” he says with solemn promise, “if I ever find myself in the position to return the favor, I won’t hesitate to do so.”

When the city guard bursts into the alleyway, searching for the disturbance, they find only five corpses, and a tall, proud man seated atop a massive elk, his face impassive.

“What is this?” the captain of the guard demands, stepping forward, a grimace twisting across his face at the sight of the carnage, “You, stranger, is this your doing?”

“It is,” Kravitz says, simply, “and if you bring me to the person responsible for this village, I will accept whatever punishment they see fit to give.”

 

The person responsible turns out to the Governor, who goes by the name of Kalen, an ugly, hungry-looking man with a scarred face and greedy, intelligent eyes. Kravitz loathes him on sight; the man reminds him of a coiled serpent.

“So stranger from the east, you are responsible for the deaths of five of my best men, correct?”

Kravitz nods, unwilling to speak. Kalen rises to his feet and rounds the heavy oaken table he was seated behind. He’s shorter than Kravitz, and lanky, but there is a speculative gleam in his eyes as he looks up at Kravitz that makes him want to step back instinctively.

“My men are hand picked for their skills in battle, stranger,” Kalen muses, “For you to kill so many so easily… you must be very strong indeed.”

He stares at Kravitz for a moment more, and then turns and goes back to sprawl across his chair.

“I will make you an offer, nameless warrior,” he says, folding his fingers together,

“Become one of my soldiers. The punishment for the crime you have committed is death, but pledge your blade and name in the service of our great Emperor, and your life will be spared.”

“And will I carry out the Emperor’s orders?” Kravitz asks, with deadly calm, “Do his bidding, at any cost?”

“A small price to pay, in exchange for your life,” Kalen replies, dismissive.

Kravitz draws himself up even taller, and the Captain of the Guard thinks to himself that this stranger from the east looks like some kind of God, ancient and terrible, and wise beyond reckoning.

“I have seen the Emperor’s work,” Kravitz says, with icy certainty, “and I would rather my life be forfeit than waste a day of it in his service.”

Kalen stands again, abruptly, slapping his hands against the table with a heavy thud. Thin lips pressed into a tight line, he stares at Kravitz, searching his face, and for a moment Kravitz sees madness flickering in the oil slick depths of his eyes, and a chill goes down his spine. Finally, Kalen sneers, and turns his back on the room.

“You’re a damn fool, stranger,” he calls over his shoulder as he walks away, “and tomorrow at dawn your neck is on the block.”

 

They throw him into prison to await his execution the next morning, something, Kravitz thinks sourly as he picks himself up off the floor, that he has no intention of sticking around for. This village’s prison is little more than a squat stone hut, with bars set into the windows; it should be easy to escape. The thing that upsets him the most is Macha; they’d taken her from him and her absence makes him uneasy. He paces the length of his cell, regulating his breathing to keep himself calm, it won’t do to spoil his plan now, before the sun sets fully. He has to be patient. He sits down on the hard little cot near the back of the cell and heaves out a sigh.

“I feel that buddy,” a voice pipes in, from somewhere to his left. Kravitz springs to his feet in alarm, he’d thought he was alone. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, he can see another cell placed directly alongside his, and through the bars that separate the two rooms, he makes out the outline of a large man, chained to the wall.

“Who are you?” he asks, cautiously stepping closer to the bars to try and make out the man’s face.

“My friends know me as Magnus, Magnus Burnsides,” the man offers, gruff but friendly, “How about you, stranger?”

“Kravitz…” Kravitz replies, and there’s a slight rattling noise as Magnus shifts, straining against the manacles around his wrist.

“And how did you wind up in the Ravensroost prison, Kravitz?” he asks, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“I…” Kravitz hesitates. Any man imprisoned here is clearly no friend to the Governor, but regardless of motivation, he suspects most would frown upon murder.

“I…. killed five of the Governor’s men,” he finishes, quietly, “and refused to join the Emperor’s service.”

There’s a long, low whistle from the other cell.

“Damn… now that takes guts,” Magnus says with glee, “I wish I could’ve been there to see the look on that pig-bastard Kalen’s face when you turned him down!”

Kravitz thinks to himself that he likes this man more by the minute, and as he thinks it, an idea takes root.

“Magnus Burnsides,” he says thoughtfully, “why did the Governor have you locked away like this?”

There’s a long pause from the other cell, and then Magnus exhales heavily.

“I… was born far to the west of here,” he begins, “I was a carpenter, one of the best. A little less than a year ago, there was an order from a wealthy client in the Capitol; if I accepted it would be enough to provide for my family for years. I set out to deliver the chair I promised him, but on my way back home, I passed through the mountains, and stumbled on this place.” His voice grows dark, storm clouds gathering,

“I saw the way Kalen and his dogs abused the people of Ravensroost, and I couldn’t-” his voice breaks, just a little, “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“And Kalen threw you in prison for your troubles,” Kravitz finishes.

"I’ve been rotting away in here for months, Kravitz,” Magnus continues, wildly, “I told my wife-“

“You have a wife?” Kravitz cuts in, a little surprised.

“Julia.” There is warmth and love in Magnus’s voice that even the chill of this dungeon cannot banish. “My Julia. I don’t know if she’s safe, if she’s dead, if she thinks _I’m_ dead…”

Kravitz closes his eyes, feeling a quiet pang of sympathy for an honest man, and finds, deep inside him, that same quiet lake that he had discovered earlier, when the Governor’s men had attacked. He sets his hands on the bars separating the two cells, bitter, blinding pain already beginning to twine up his right arm, and tears them from the wall with a grunt. As the bars peel from the wall with a horrible screech, some of the loose stones in the ceiling give way and crumble, and once the shower of dust has cleared away, there is enough moonlight in the cell for Kravitz to see Magnus properly. And what he sees is a massive man, as tall as Kravitz but far broader, with a shock of red hair and impressive sideburns.

“Kravitz!” he sputters eyes wide, “You- how…?”

“I’m on a quest, of sorts,” Kravitz says, by way of an answer, “and I could use your help, I’m almost sure of it. How would you like to see your wife again?”

Tears well up in Magnus’s eyes, and he nods his head once, firmly.

“Get me out of here, and I’ll help however I can.”

Kravitz tears his manacles from the wall, crushing them in his hands and marveling at how easy it is. It’s almost enough to make him forget the pain.

“I need my weapons,” Magnus adds, rubbing his wrists and wincing.

“And I need my friend,” Kravitz agrees, “stay quiet, move in the dark, and meet me by the trees on the outskirts of town in half an hour.”

Magnus stands to his full height, setting one huge, surprisingly gentle hand on Kravitz’s shoulder,

“I will not forget this, my friend,” he vows, his face open and earnest, “as long as I live, I won’t forget.”

Then he smiles, a wide, boyish grin that makes him look five years younger.

“Hope I roll a good stealth check,” he crows, and, far more nimbly than Kravitz would expect from such a large man, he climbs up through the hole in the roof and disappears from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

ii.

 

 

Magnus Burnsides turns out to be a very entertaining companion, with a good natured, humorous outlook on life despite the hardships he’s had to face so far. Over the next two days, traveling through seemingly endless stretches of woodland broken up by a few small, sparsely populated villages here and there, Kravitz goes from liking Magnus, to trusting him. By the time they stop to camp by a little stream on the third night, Kravitz considers him a friend.

“I made you something, Krav!” Magnus calls, leaving his place by the fire and rummaging around in his pack, “I was whittling it while you were out hunting yesterday,”

He pulls out a small wrapped bundle, and hands it to Kravitz almost sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head.

“I just… uh, needed something to do with my hands?” he chuckles, and quickly goes back to the fire, the backs of his ears a little red. Kravitz unwraps the package to find a small, beautifully carved wooden duck. Despite the strange choice of subject matter, Kravitz has never seen such careful attention to detail; this is probably the finest craftsmanship he’s ever come across.

“”Magnus,” he exclaims, “this is incredible!”

Magnus shrugs, self-effacing, and stirs the coals with a branch.

“That was the first thing I ever learned how to carve, as a kid. When I was twelve I spent a few weeks just laying around in bed, so there wasn’t much else to do besides read. But,” he adds, “reading isn’t exactly my strong suit, so. Y’know. My dad brought in a chunk of wood and a knife one day, and the rest is history, I guess. You should have seen the first duck I carved, you couldn’t even tell what it was supposed to be.”

He laughs, flopping backwards on his bedroll. Kravitz, however, is stuck on a different part of the story.

“Why were you in bed for a few weeks?” he asks, cautiously, unsure if this is something Magnus will want to discuss, “Were you sick?”

Magnus is quiet for a moment, reaching over to stroke Macha, curled up in the grass next to him.

“I told you I grew up in the west, right?” he says, finally, and Kravitz nods.

“Yes. I assumed that’s partly why you agreed to come with me, because I’m headed there too.”

“That is part of it,” Magnus agrees with a grin. “Where I’m from, the land… it’s wilder. The last of the old gods live in the woods, or, so they say. There were rumors, when I was a boy, about a Great Forest Spirit, who ruled over all creatures, over life and death itself.”

“I’ve heard of this spirit!” Kravitz cuts in, eagerly, “You mean it really exists?”

“Most people where I’m from would say no,” Magnus replies, sitting up and staring down at his folded hands for a moment, before looking up at Kravitz, his eyes uncharacteristically serious.

“But Kravitz, I know it’s real. I know, because I’ve met Him.”

“How?” Kravitz breathes, moving a little closer.

“I was a pretty adventurous kid,” Magnus waves a hand at himself in a gesture that says ‘obviously’, “and when I was twelve, I was playing in the woods, and I found some of the boys from my village throwing stones at a wounded fox who couldn’t get away.” His fists clench almost involuntarily.

“I tried to fight them. It was stupid, I knew that, I was pretty scrawny, and they were a lot older and bigger, but that little fox all bloody and hurt made me see red.”

Magnus shakes himself out of his memories, and glances at Kravitz, who is listening intently.

“I mean, I got my ass kicked, just like you’d expect. It was… bad. They left me there, lying on the ground, and I remember thinking that I hoped they found my body, for my parents’ sake. And then…” he pauses, unsure of how to describe this part of the story, “and then I saw Him. Or, I didn’t see Him? I was unconscious. But I felt Him. This warm presence, like pure light. It was like light was filling me. And I woke up, and I was alive. The worst of my wounds were healed.”

“That’s… that’s amazing,” Kravitz says, in wonder, “is that even possible?”

“It is for Him,” says Magnus, simply, “He saved my life. He could have left me to die, but he didn’t. I’ll never understand why, but I owe him everything.”

For a long, contemplative moment, they sit in silence, staring up at the stars above the canopy of trees.

“Before I was- before I left my village,” Kravitz says, slowly, “a wise woman looked into my future and told me to ride to the east, and reunite the Twins. She said only then would balance be returned to the world. I wonder if that has anything to do with this forest spirit of yours…”

Magnus frowns, pulling a knife and a chunk of wood from his bag and beginning to carve,

“There’s an old wives tale my mom used to tell me, to scare me so I wouldn’t go out after dark. Something about spirits in the forest that took the shape of children to lure you in so they could eat you. But I doubt that one is true,” he finishes, tossing some of his wood shavings into the fire and watching the sparks sail high in the dark.

“Whatever the case, Magnus,” Kravitz says as he burrows deeper into his blankets, “I’m glad you’re here with me,”

As his eyes begin to drift shut, he thinks he hears Magnus say “Me too, buddy.”

But he couldn’t be sure.

 

 ~*~

 

“I recognize these woods,” Magnus says to him, two days later. The endless forests they have been passing through are beginning to change, slowly but surely; different trees and foliage than Kravitz has ever seen springing up, new animals and wildflowers too.

“Are we near your village?” Kravitz asks curiously, and Magnus shakes his head.

“No, but we’re getting closer. This is true west we’re in right now, can’t you smell it?”

Kravitz, frowning, sniffing the air, and sure enough there is a strange, clean scent that the breeze brings to him. The brand on his arm throbs, and he winces, clutching it and willing it to calm. Magnus notices this, Kravitz is sure of it, the man notices far more than he lets on, but he doesn’t say anything, and for that Kravitz is grateful. The strange new smell in the air seems to give them all a fresh burst of energy, and they make far better progress that morning than they had the day before, until eventually, around noon, they reach a place where the trees are fewer at the base of a small mountain. Magnus, squinting against the light of the sun, glances up at the narrow path set into the side of the cliff and elbows Kravitz suddenly.

“Krav, look up there!” he exclaims, and Kravitz looks up to see a caravan progressing up the path, maybe fifty or sixty men and women following along mule drawn carts covered in cloth.

“They must be from Irontown,” Magnus says, his voice flat, “I’ll bet Lucretia’s up there,”

“Irontown?” Kravitz questions, but at that moment they both hear a shout from above them. Coming down from the mountain above the caravan is a sight Kravitz would hardly believe with his own eyes if he hadn’t encountered the Bear God in his own village; two white wolves, larger than horses, gleaming in the sun, barreling into the crowd of people, their vicious snarls echoing down to the ravine below.

Kravitz hears a commanding voice rise above the chaos, shouting orders that he can’t quite make out, and at that moment a roar like thunder rolls down the mountain, and another wolf appears, three times larger than the other two.

“Holy shit,” Magnus whispers beside him; there’s a flash of light and a bang from near one of the mysterious covered carts, and the largest wolf staggers and falls off the cliff with a howl, the other two leaping after her.

“There may be survivors, Magnus, we have to help!” Kravitz says, leaping onto Macha.

“Follow the river,” Magnus says, grimly hoisting his pack up with Kravitz, “I’ll be right behind you.”

 

 ~*~

 

“Madam Director! Director, are you injured?”

Lucretia blinks, lifting the rifle off her shoulder and handing it to Cam, smoke still leaking from the barrel.

“I’m fine,” she says calmly, “now let’s move. The sooner we get this rice home, the sooner the children eat.”

“Do you think we killed her, my lady? Did we kill Moro?”

“She’s a god,” Lucretia replies, helping Leon lift one of the injured women into the wagons, “it will take much more than that.”

“She certainly did some damage,” Hama grumbles, inspecting one of the bags of rice that had been overturned on the ground.

“My lady,” Cam says, hesitantly, “What about the men Moro pushed over the cliff?”

For a moment, Lucretia is silent, her heart weighing as heavy in her chest as it always seems to, these days. God, she wishes Magnus were here.

“They’re dead,” she says at last, and her voice leaves no room for argument, “we need to get the living home.”

“But ma’am, two of those missing are…. it’s Avi and Killian, ma’am.”

For a brief moment, Lucretia’s face twists, a grimace of sorrow so profound that Cam feels almost guilty, like he’s seen something he shouldn’t have. The next instant, her face is smooth and impassive as ever; Madam Director to the core.

“The longer we wait, the less chance we have of saving the injured. We move now.”

 

 ~*~

 

About fifteen or twenty minutes of riding, and the river opens out into a lake. Kravitz spies two bodies laying half submerged, clearly washed out of the rapids, and climbs down quickly to pull them out of the water.

One, a man, comes to almost immediately, sputtering and groaning as Kravitz hauls him onto the sand. The other, a burly woman, has a nasty wound on her head that he doesn’t like the look of, and remains limp as he lays her carefully down by her companion, but to his relief, she’s still breathing. A flash in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he looks up to see the massive wolf from earlier, standing on a sandbar at the other end of the lake, flanked by what must be her two children. Her pure white coat is stained with red at the flank, and Kravitz wades out a little ways without really thinking, not sure what he can do help, but compelled to regardless.

And then a human figure appears at the wolf’s side like a phantom, and Kravitz feels his heart pick up speed in his chest. It’s a girl, he thinks, clad in fur, short golden hair wild and untamed. She bends to suck at the wound, turning periodically to spit the poisoned blood out on the sand, and Kravitz is overwhelmed by a sense of fate.

“My name is Kravitz!” he cries, his voice carrying across the water, and the girl stops and turns to face him. Her face is beautiful and terrible to look at, cold green eyes and a mouth smeared red with blood.

“I have travelled far from lands to the east!” Kravitz yells again, “Are you ancient gods, and have I come at last to the realm of the spirit of the forest?”

For a moment, silence swells around them, and they take measure of one another, then the girl turns away, dismissing him.

“Get out of here, asshole!” she yells, leaping up on the back of one of the smaller wolves. They’re gone the next instant, melting seamlessly into the woods like shadows. Kravitz shakes himself, like coming out of a trance.

“My lady…” he whispers to himself, pressing his fingers into the scar, concealed beneath his sleeve, “I… I don’t understand.”

“Kravitz!”

He whirls, and Magnus is there, panting, kneeling by the woman on the beach.

“Help me with her,” he orders, and Kravitz hurries back to help his friend hoist the limp body onto Macha’s back.

“She’s pretty bad off,” Magnus says grimly, “we need to get her back to Irontown quick, they’ll have medicine.”

“It’s at least a full day’s ride from here,” a new voice chimes in, the man Kravitz had pulled from the water first, who now sits up, grimacing and clutching his left arm to his chest.

“Let me see,” Magnus says gently, reaching out and inspecting the wounded limb. The man grits his teeth and doesn’t make a sound as his arm is gently prodded, but his face is bloodless white.

“It’s broken,” proclaims Magnus, going to his pack and pulling out some bandages, “I can give you a makeshift splint, but I can’t set it with what we have here. Will you be able to walk?”

“Yes,” the man says, rising to his feet with a wince, “my name is Avi, that’s Killian,” he nods towards his unconscious friend, “thank you for saving us, strangers. We really owe you one.”

“Magnus Burnsides,” says the man himself, with a bright, easy grin.

“Kravitz,” Kravitz says simply, taking Macha’s reins and nodding towards the woods, “we should try to make good time.”

 

 

Not more than twenty minutes into the tree line, Avi freezes where he stands, his face slack with horror.

“Avi?” Magnus says, coming to a halt as well, “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“There…” he whispers, raising a trembling hand and pointing to the left of the path ahead of them.

Sitting on one of the low hanging branches of an old pine tree is a little creature, no bigger than a cat, with a strange, almost masklike face.

“Krav, are you seeing this?” Magnus breathes, awestruck.

“A Kodama,” Kravitz replies, delighted, “I never thought I’d find one of them here!”

“Be careful, guys,” Avi chokes, still frightened, “this is clearly a bad omen,”

“Kodama are tree spirits, they bring good luck,” Magnus says, in confusion, “don’t you know that?”

“They’ll lead their lord and master right to us,” Avi hisses, frustrated, “and then we’re really dead.”

“Their lord and master?” Kravitz asks, sharing a look with Magnus, “You mean those wolves we saw on the mountain earlier?”

“No!” Avi cries, “I mean a real monster, like an enormous deer, except they say it wears a human face, and at night they say it-”

He stops, peering around Magnus in suspicion.

“Hey, where’d it go?”

The other two look, and sure enough, the little Kodama has vanished. But another appears, just a little farther into the trees, and another, and another, until Kravitz can see hundreds of them, gathered along some invisible path.

“Seems like they want us to follow,” says Magnus thoughtfully, and Macha tosses her proud head, stepping forward off the road.

“If Macha’s not afraid, we have nothing to worry about here,” Kravitz agrees, and he goes to the next Kodama he sees.

“Would you be kind enough to grant us safe passage through your forest, little one?”

It rattles its strange head, and fades away. Satisfied, Kravitz turns back to Avi, still hovering uncertainly on the road.

“I don’t know your beliefs about the spirits, Avi,” he calls, “but your friend’s injuries are very bad. If we don’t get her back soon, she doesn’t have a chance. These Kodama may be the only way.”

Avi may be a superstitious man, but he’s also a good one, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he nods once, sharply, like he’s steeling himself, and follows them into the heart of the forest. They let the strange little creatures lead them through the thickening undergrowth, past trees far taller and wider than seem possible. At last, they come to a clearing so large it could house Kravitz’s village five times over. The trees above them grow so tall and thick that the branches have laced together in a canopy overhead; sunlight breaks through in dappled patches here and there. Everything is still, and yet nothing is. Kravitz glances at Magnus and sees the same wonder he feels reflected on his friend’s face.

“This place is magical.” Magnus says, very quiet. Kravitz takes a few steps forward, and bends down to inspect tracks in the soft bed of grass.

“Those wolves, and the girl with them,” he stands again, “this must be where the four of them live.”

“Are you still sure these Kodama want to help us?” Avi says, his whole body drawn taut as a bowstring, “We shouldn’t be here, Kravitz. This is a place of gods and demons.”

“Well,” Magnus huffs, slinging his pack off his broad shoulders and pulling out his canteen, “seems safe enough to me, and we need a place to rest. You should sit, Avi,” he adds, more seriously, “you’re no good to us if you can’t walk.”

Avi looks like sitting is the last thing he would like to do currently, but Magnus has the same strange, good-hearted power over him he seems to have over everyone he meets, and with a grumble, he folds down into the grass and accepts the water gratefully. Kravitz trails along the side of a pond, filled with water so clear he can make out every detail of the reeds growing at the bottom. In the wet soil near the water’s edge, there is another footprint, not from any kind of animal he’s ever seen before. If he had to guess, he’d say it looks almost… deer-like.

 _Whatever made these made them recently,_ he thinks, and as he thinks it he looks up, and up, to the other side of the great clearing, and the woods beyond. A herd of deer passes through the spaces between the great red oaks, and among them is a creature, a creature with the body of a deer; it turns to look at him for a moment, just a moment, so far away he can hardly make it out but its face… its face is-

“Krav!” Magnus calls, and Kravitz feels a shock go through his body, like Magnus had woken him from a deep sleep. He blinks, and looks again, but the space between the trees is dark and empty. He makes his way back to the others, and Avi gives him a concerned pat on the shoulder.

“You all right?” he questions, “You went white as a sheet there all of a sudden.”

“Did you see anything just then?” Kravitz asks, almost desperate. Avi and Magnus share a strange look, and Magnus shakes his head.

“Like what?” he says, but Kravitz finds he doesn’t want to speak of it. He doesn’t have the words.

“Forget it,” he mutters, and takes a swig from the canteen.

 

 

The next hour of travel is weary and tense, Killian is getting worse by the minute now, it seems; Magnus stops at one point to change the wrappings for a nasty slash on her thigh, and hisses out a horrified little breath when he sees the state it’s in.

“Infected,” he says grimly to Avi, trying to force some water down her limp throat, “if we can’t find some way to slow it down, we may not make it in time.”

Avi nods, his eyes glistening suspiciously, and Kravitz is about to suggest they stop, when an earthen hut springs up suddenly out of the forest in front of them, camouflaged so neatly that Magnus nearly trips over the front gate. Of all the things Kravitz might have been expecting to see, a little house made of peat, with smoke curling up lazily from the chimney and a sprawling garden, takes him completely by surprise.

“Okay, guys, a witch absolutely for sure lives here,” Avi says, uneasy, “we should-“

A figure rounds the back of the little cottage, dressed simply in a loose fitting green shirt and a pair of strange, stiff blue pants, a young man holding a basket filled with various plants, who notices them and freezes, blinking furiously behind his spectacles.

“What- you- Kravitz?” sputters Barry Bluejeans, in utter disbelief. And then his eyes land on the other two, and widen to an almost comical level.

“MAGNUS BURNSIDES!” he shouts, throwing his basket to the ground and darting forward faster than Kravitz would have believed possible to throw his arms around as much of Magnus as he can manage.

“We thought you were dead, buddy,” he mumbles. Magnus, grinning now from ear to ear, puts his arms around Barry and hugs back, squeezing all the air from the poor man’s lungs.

“Barold fucking Bluejeans,” he crows, “am I ever glad to see you. And does that mean-?”

“What’s all the noise out here?” another voice cuts in, gravelly with age, but friendly, and a small old man stumbles out the cottage’s front door, rubbing at his eyes.

“You hooligans are getting in the way of my beauty sleep…” he begins, but he’s quickly interrupted by all six feet of Magnus, barreling into him like a speeding wagon.

Kravitz winces on the old man’s behalf, but he takes being lifted into the air by a giant with pretty good humor, laughing and slapping Magnus on the back.

“Burnsides, you ass!” he says, once he’s finally set back on the ground, “You could have let us know you were all right!”

Magnus shrugs, a sad smile tugging at his face,

“I really couldn’t have, Merle,” he replies, jerking his thumb at Kravitz, “I was in some pretty serious shit. If it hadn’t been for Kravitz here, I don’t know if I ever would have made it back.”

The old man (Merle?) turns to Kravitz and holds out a hand made of wood. Made of. Wood. Kravitz blinks at it for a second, noticing that his arm is. Also wood. He shrugs and shakes the hand.

“The name’s Merle Highchurch, son,” he says kindly, and Kravitz notices belatedly that there are flowers braided into his thick white beard “part time doctor, full time lover.” Behind him, Magnus makes a face. “I think you’ve already met my assistant, Barry?”

“I have,” Kravitz replies, and Barry cuts in eagerly,

“He’s the one I told you about, Merle! He saved me in Ravensroost, I would have been toast if he hadn’t come along.”

“You were in Ravensroost?” Magnus says, forehead wrinkling.

“Yeah, looking for you, you big dumbass,” Barry scolds, crossing his arms, “what was I supposed to do? Nobody’s heard anything from you in a year! We were starting to think the worst, I had to at least try to track you down.”

“Well,” says Magnus, his eyes dancing with mischief, “you got pretty close, at least.”

“Come inside, all of you,” Merle says, “we’ve got some oolong steeping, and-”

He breaks off as his eyes fall on Macha, and Killian’s limp form atop her.

“Who is this?” he asks, his weather-beaten face suddenly grave.

“A friend,” Magnus says, without hesitation, solemn once again, “she’s wounded, we think it might be infected.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place laddie,” Merle says, rolling up his sleeves, “help me get her inside.”

 

 

Magnus and Barry heft Killian into the back room of the little hut, and for the next hour Kravitz, Avi, and Magnus sit anxiously by the small fire, watching Merle and Barry hurry in and out of the room, carrying bandages, potions, and different plants and tools. Finally, a haggard looking Merle appears, with Barry trailing along behind, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

“She’s stabilized,” Merle says, simply, and Avi leaps to his feet with stark relief written all over his face.

“I don’t care if you are a witch,” he says fervently, “thank you.”

“No witches here, bub,” Merle laughs, sinking into a rocking chair by the hearth, “just a couple of guys who know a thing or two about plants.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Kravitz speaks up, “how is it that you three know each-other?”

“Barry and I grew up together,” Magnus replies, easily, “we’re from the same village. Merle,” he gestures at the old man, rocking placidly, “happened about five years back.”

“He just sort of… showed up out of no where,” says Barry, “Not,” he adds hurriedly at a scowl from Merle, “that we aren’t happy he came. He taught us all a thing or two about medicine.”

The three of them start swapping memories, reminiscing happily about times they’d shared in their village, and Kravitz, sitting a little too close to the fire and starting to feel overheated, removes his outer shirt without thinking. He only realizes his arms are bare when he hears a choked little gasp from Avi’s direction, and looks up to find three pairs of eyes trained on his right arm.

“Krav…” Magnus says evenly, “what the actual, honest fuck, is that?”

And Kravitz, tired and lonely and sick of secrets, tells them his story.

“At first I hardly noticed it,” he finishes, “but it’s spreading. And the farther west we go, the more it aches. It’s going to kill me, one of these days. Soon, I think.”

“There must be something we can do!” Magnus explodes, on his feet in an instant and pacing the length of the tiny cottage, “I’m not just going to sit around and let you die!”

“I… might have something,” Barry says, thoughtfully, and hurries out of the room without clarifying.

Merle sighs deeply, staring into the fire and stroking his beard.

“Magnus,” he says suddenly, “did I ever tell you the story of my old friend John?”

“I don’t think so,” Magnus replies, “it doesn’t sound familiar,”

Merle settles back further in his chair, and takes a deep breath.

“I was born in the Capitol, you know,” he begins, and he nods at Kravitz, “you ever been to the Capitol, kiddo?”

Kravitz shakes his head, and Merle shrugs.

“Well, it’s much different these days than it was when I was a kid, I’m sure, but I’m old, the times have changed. Picture a great, shining city on the coast, ships constantly coming in and out of the harbors… I tell you boys, it was the most prosperous place on this earth. My friend John, he used to say that someday, every city from the east to the west would be just as beautiful. He had a vision of a better world, I guess.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Magnus says, and Merle smiles, bittersweet.

“He was. But he changed too. He was real smart, John, always seeking, always learning, searching for truth in every form. And one day he got it into his head that his life meant nothing, if all he was going to do was die at the end of it. The idea that once he was gone, that was it… it terrified him. I mean, death ain’t a pretty thought for any of us, but it haunted John.”

Merle is silent for a moment, the flickering light of the fire dancing in his deep brown eyes.

“What happened to him?” Avi asks, “To John? I mean, did he die?”

For a moment, it seems like Merle hadn’t heard Avi’s question, and then he blinks and looks up.

“Oh, no,” he says sadly, “you’d know him as the Emperor now.”

Kravitz jerks in his seat, and Magnus leans forward, mouth hanging open.

“Your friend John is the Emperor?” Avi shrieks.

“You’re friends with the most powerful man in the world?” Magnus questions, baffled,

“I was, once,” says Merle, simply, “but like I said. He’s changed. After he became Emperor, his obsession with death just got worse. He got it into his head that if he could prolong his life somehow, make himself immortal… he would have nothing to fear.”

 _That’s why he’s looking for the Great Forest Spirit_ … Kravitz thinks, and the pieces finally fall into place, _he believes, somehow, that the Spirit can grant him immortality._

“When all my attempts to reason with him failed, I left the Capitol,” Merle continues, “I wandered until I found myself far to the west, in your village, Magnus. I decided to stay here, in this last wild place, where the trees are still thriving. All this to say, Kravitz,” he says, gesturing to the brand on his arm, “even if it was a curse that brought you, I’m glad you’ve come. John and his armies have been ravaging the forests, and waging war with the great beasts. The balance is tipping towards mankind, and if we don’t do something to right it, this world will be damaged forever.”

“Here!” Barry calls, rushing back into the room with a strange, glass-green bottle clutched protectively in his hands, “This may help, Kravitz,” he says, offering it to him, “I can’t lift the curse, I wouldn’t even know how to, but this might slow the effects.”

Kravitz sniffs the potion, experimentally. It smells like lemon. He looks to Magnus, who gives him a thumbs up, shrugs, and tips back the whole concoction in one go. It tastes revolting, going down, something Kravitz can’t identify and doesn’t want to, but as it settles in his stomach he feels… stronger. Lighter, somehow, like the curse no longer weighs on him as heavily.

“Barry… thank you, my friend,” he says fervently, and Barry blushes.

“Oh, uh, no problem,” he says sheepishly, and Merle stands.

“Well, your friend won’t be in any shape to move till tomorrow morning, so let’s get you fine folks bedded down for the night,” he says, taking a piece of wood and stirring up the coals, “you might as well get a good night’s rest.”

 

 ~*~

 

 The next morning, they tearfully (Magnus) part ways with Barry and Merle, Magnus promising to come back and visit as soon as he can. As Kravitz clasps Merle’s hand, the other man presses a strange, multicolored crystal into his hand and beams up at him.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Krav!” he says, “And I always trust my gut, when it comes to people. If you ever find yourself in trouble in the future, or you’re in need of some help, you smash this crystal, and wherever you are, I’ll find you.”

Kravitz thanks him, they carefully position Killian (still unconscious, but breathing much better today) onto Macha’s back, and resume the trek towards Irontown. After a good night’s rest, they move at a much faster pace, and only two hours travel go by before the forest ends, so abruptly that Kravitz has to blink a few times, to take in what he’s seeing. A huge lake, large and bordered by mountains, and perching atop it like a crown jewel, just a few hundred yards away-

“A fortress?” he says, and Avi lets out a whoop of relief that sounds dangerously close to a sob.

“It’s Madam Director’s Irontown!” he says, eagerly, “We make iron here from the ore in the clay. Johan!” he shouts, stumbling towards the massive front gates as fast as his tired legs can carry him, “Carey, Johan! It’s me!”

Kravitz starts after him, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stops him, and he turns to see Magnus shaking his head, a wry, knowing smile on his face.

“This is where we part ways, good buddy,” he says quietly, and even though Kravitz was expecting it, it hurts.

“You won’t accompany us inside, at least?” he says, almost pleadingly, “It seems like this ‘Madam Director’ is a friend of yours…?”

Magnus snorts, but there is nothing friendly about the sound.

“Madam Director,” he repeats, something dark in his voice, “is that what she’s calling herself, nowadays,”

He looks up at Kravitz again, and the anger melts away, leaving only the same easy, open smile he’d given Kravitz that first night they’d met.

“Our paths will cross again, Kravitz,” he says, “I know they will. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, but I have to go. I have to find my Julia, I’ve been away too long already.”

He hitches his pack up higher on his back, and salutes Kravitz.

“Don’t forget my dude, I owe you a debt! You need me, I’ll be there. Magnus Burnsides never forgets a promise,”

He takes a few steps away, then stops as if remembering something, and turns back to Kravitz.

“Oh, and, if you come across someone named Taako in there, tell him his old bud Maggie says hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle and Barry on the scene! Magic doesn't really exist in the same way in this world, so I figured this was the closest I could get to making Barry a scientist and Merle a Botanist at the same time. Next chapter not only will there be Lucretia, there will be Taako, at long last!


	3. Chapter 3

 iii.

 

The massive wooden gates of Irontown have only just slammed shut behind them when a cry goes up from the amassed crowd of curious people who have gathered around them.

“It’s Avi!”

“Avi’s come back from the dead!”

“Where are the others, Avi?” a young woman says, stepping forward from the crowd with a baby at her hip, “Where is my husband?”

“Is my son with you?” another man demands, and Avi bows his head, his face twisted with grief.

“Killian and I are the only ones who survived.” He says, quietly.

“Out of the way!”

A huge man with a grizzled face and an eye-patch pushes his way through a few people standing at the front of the crowd, four or five armored guards trailing along behind him.

“Avi,” he exclaims, visibly relieved, “thank god you’re back! Madam Director has been-” he pauses when he catches sight of Kravitz, and his one good eye narrows in suspicion.

“And who is this outsider you’ve brought with you?” he growls. Kravitz feels his hand twitch towards his scythe almost unconsciously, but Avi is rolling his eyes and grinning.

“Good to see you too, Captain Bane,” he says, and then takes a step forward and addresses the throng as a whole.

“Listen to me, everyone,” he calls, “this stranger saved our lives! If it weren’t for him and his elk, Killian and I would both be dead. His name is Kravitz, and we owe him our thanks.”

Captain Bane presses his lips together tightly, glancing at Macha, and at Kravitz’s scythe, strapped to his back.

“Kravitz, was it?” he says gruffly, and Kravitz inclines his head slightly.

“Well, I’m very grateful to you for bringing Avi and Killian back to us, Kravitz, but fact of the matter is something don’t smell right. You got back almost as fast as we did, and through the forbidden forest. On top of that, you had two badly wounded soldiers with you-”

“Avi?! AVI!”

Bane is cut off by a tall, thin man with heavy lidded eyes, who charges out of the crowd and slams into Avi like a small typhoon.

“You idiot you idiot you absolute fucking idiot-” he chants, his voice deep and almost monotone despite the fact that his arms are shaking where they’re clasped around Avi’s neck. Avi makes a small, pained noise at the collision, and tries to gently pry himself free of the other man.

“Johan, babe, my arm is kinda broken…” he says, through gritted teeth, and Johan lets go instantly, stepping back with the tiniest of worried wrinkles on his forehead. His eyes scan curiously over Kravitz, lingering on his face, and then move to Macha. When he sees the limp body strapped to her back, his face twists.

“Is she…?” he asks, quietly, but Avi cuts him off, shaking his head.

“She’s alive,” he says simply, and Johan’s shoulders sag slightly, visibly relieved.

“Thank the gods,” he mutters, “I can’t imagine having to tell Carey-”

He breaks off, suddenly, sharing a look with Avi, and turns on his heel to yell back up at the guard tower above them.

“Carey! Carey Fangbattle! Get your ass down here, now! It’s _Killian_!”

There is what sounds, to Kravitz’s ears, like a small scale explosion, and then a figure comes hurdling out of the tower to land on the ground fifteen feet below, lightly as a cat. Kravitz can only stare, eyes wide, as a small woman with closely shorn hair and a scarred face grabs Johan by the front of his shirt, yanking his face down towards hers.

“Where?” she demands, desperately, “You found her body? Johan, _where_?”

“Not her body, Carey,” Avi speaks up from behind, pointing at Macha, and Carey gapes at him for a moment, the pure shock on her face melting into joy at seeing her friend safe. Then, her eyes follow Avi’s hand, and land on Killian, still unconscious, but visibly breathing.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispers, her voice unsteady, and she takes a small, almost mindless step towards Macha, “she’s…. alive?”

“We need to get her to a healer, just to make sure,” Kravitz speaks for the first time, “but I believe she’ll pull through just fine.”

Carey is trembling, like the effort of holding herself back from Killian is straining at her.

“You did this?” she asks, brown eyes piercing into Kravitz’s, “You brought her back?”

“Not alone,” Kravitz hurries to clarify “I had help-”

The full force of Carey throwing her arms around his middle is enough to knock the breath from his lungs, and when she hoists him off the ground and hugs him even tighter in midair, he thinks abstractedly that it really shouldn’t be possible for someone this small to be so strong.

“Carey,” Avi says, amused, “let him go, bud. We gotta get Killian to the infirmary, we don’t want to have to take poor Kravitz in for broken ribs too.”

Carey lets go instantly, looking a little sheepish.

“Kravitz, was it?” she questions, and he nods, still out of breath.

“Welcome to Irontown.” She says simply, bowing slightly. “If you ever find your self in need of something, while you’re here, just let me know. I owe you one.”

There seems to be a pattern on this quest, Kravitz thinks wryly, of complete strangers deciding that they owe him favors.

“I’ll go with Carey to the infirmary,” Avi says, gesturing with his good arm at his broken one, “I need to get this set. Is it okay if I take Macha? I thought maybe Johan could bring you to meet our Madam Director.”

Kravitz nods.

“I’ll have someone bring her back to you after I move Killian.” Avi shoots him a grin, and a salute, then slings his good arm tightly around Carey’s shoulder and starts off in the opposite direction, leaving Kravitz alone with Johan. Around them, the crowd begins to disperse, Captain Bane shooting one last narrow eyed glance in Kravitz’s direction and stalking away. A group of younger women approach slowly, dressed in brightly colored clothing and giggling amongst themselves. The tallest steps forward and nods boldly to Kravitz.

“I’m Toki, stranger,” she says, with a strange, lilting accent, “on behalf of the women of Irontown, I’d like to welcome you. Stop by the bellows later if you like, we’ll show you a good time.”

One of the other women behind her says something in a language Kravitz doesn’t know, and they explode into laughter, tossing glances over their shoulders as they walk away.

“What… what did she say?” Kravitz asks, flustered.

“She said you’re beautiful,” Johan replies, amused, “we don’t see many faces like yours around here. You’ll be very popular, I’m sure.”

Kravitz grimaces, a little, and Johan grins.

“So,” he says, almost shyly, “before I take you to see Madam Director, would you like a quick tour of Irontown?”

“Thank you, Johan,” Kravitz says, measuring, remembering the strange iron ball found in the bear god’s stomach, and the bitter twist of Magnus’s face when he saw the caravan on the mountaintop, “I would indeed.”

 

 

Irontown is, to the casual observer, self-sustaining and thriving, a near impenetrable fortress with the lake guarding it from one side, and the mountains from the other. The people they pass on the street are diverse, Kravitz catches at least seven different languages being spoken, and they seem happy, in a way that he hasn’t seen in any of the villages or cities he’s come across so far. And still, an unease clings to him, one that he can’t explain, has no words for. As Johan leads him through the streets, up the hill the town is built on to the highest point, Kravitz sees the land around them for the first time, and the breath catches in his throat.

“Johan,” he says, filtering the horror from his voice by sheer power of will, “where are the trees?”

There are none, for the hundreds of yards stretching away from Irontown, on the hills on the far shore of the lake, nothing. Just flat, stumped land, ugly and dead.

“We’ve cleared the forests around us,” Johan says with a shrug, “we needed the fuel for the bellows, and the metal from the soil. Supply and demand, and our iron is in demand. Rumor has it Madam Director is designing new weapons that could dethrone the Emperor himself.”

“The Emperor?” Kravitz asks, sharply, “What kind of weapons?”

“Easy, dude, I don’t know,” Johan says, “I work in the food storerooms, nobody tells me anything.”

Kravitz looks out at the barren landscape below and feels a shiver of foreboding crawl up his spine like a chill wind.

“Istus was right…” he mutters to himself, clenching his fists by his sides.

“What?” Johan asks, confused, but Kravitz shakes his head once, and smiles tightly at the other man.

“Never mind. I’m famished, actually, wasn’t much time for eating on the way here. Could I trouble you for a bowl of rice before we meet with the Director?”

“Of course,” Johan says, motioning for Kravitz to follow him, “it’s the least I can do.”

 

 

 

The main town square is lined with shops and food stalls, bustling and full of delicious smells and people hard at work. Johan leads Kravitz to a stall serving rice porridge and the old, gap-toothed man inside passes him a huge, steaming bowl with a grin. As he eats, another group of four or five women and men, dressed in that same brightly colored, well fitting clothing, pass by on the street. One of them spots him, and pauses, saying something behind her hand to the others. As they approach the stall Kravitz hears one of them say, ‘Toki was right. He _is_ handsome!’ and feels his face flush red.

Some of the other men eating at the long wooden benches surrounding the stall look up as they approach, and scowl.

“Get lost,” one sneers, “let us eat in peace, dammit!”

“Listen, stranger,” one of the women says, ignoring the man handily, “why don’t you come over to our place?”

“Yeah,” a slender man with kohl rimmed eyes says, with a wink, “you don’t want to stay in the soldiers’ barracks, it stinks like animal in there.”

“Look, Ancasta!” the same man growls, pounding a fist down on the table, “We risked our lives out there to bring you the food we’ll be eating for the next month, so you watch your mouth!”

The woman who had spoken first, Ancasta, crosses her arms over her chest, glaring the man down.

“And who made the iron that paid for that food, Kohroku? Huh? Tell me that.”

“Yeah,” another man laughs, “we’re pumping those bellows while you pigs are in bed!”

“Actually,” Kravitz cuts in, quietly, “if it’s not too much trouble, I would like to see where you work.”

“You would?” the first woman says, astonished. The man with kohl rimmed eyes elbows her, grinning.

“Guess I won’t be taking my makeup off for work tonight,” he purrs.

“Have Taako lend you his lipstick,” another laughs, and Kravitz starts.

“Did you say…?” he begins, but a whistle sounds from somewhere in the distance, and they hurry off down the street.

“Don’t forget, now!” one of them calls, “We’ll be waiting for you!”

“Don’t pay any attention to them, stranger,” the man, Kohroku, grumbles, taking another mouthful of porridge, “Madam Director spoils them. That’s why they’re so shameless.”

“You’re just bitter that they don’t pay you any attention, Kohroku,” Johan says, rolling his eyes.

“Things are certainly never boring, with them here.” The old stall keeper adds, deftly spooning another ladle of porridge into Kravitz’s bowl.

“Those kind of whores working here?” Kohroku says in disbelief, “It’s a disgrace. They defile the iron.”

“The Director buys out the contract of every brothel girl and boy she can,” Johan explains, seeing the confusion on Kravitz’s face.

“Milady has a kind heart, that’s all,” Kohroku proclaims grandly.

“You’ve got rice on your chin, idiot,” Johan points out. Kohroku stealthily attempts to wipe it away.

“It’s true!” another man exclaims, joining in on the conversation, “If Madam Director hadn’t founded Irontown here and given us jobs, my family and I would have starved to death a long time ago.”

“She’s not even afraid of the gods, our Director,” Kohroku says proudly, having given up on removing the rice from his chin, “you should have seen the way she dealt with Moroko.”

Kravitz frowns.

“Who’s Moroko?”

“Who’s Moroko?” Kohroku echoes, in surprise, “He was the gigantic bear god that used to rule this forest. We couldn’t even get near the mountains with him around.”

“Nothing to do but sit around like lazy bums for months, useless,” another man chimes in, “just staring at a bunch of angry beasts.”

“See, the iron in the sand under this town had been dug out already,” Kohroku explains, “so we needed to get to the iron under the mountain, but there was no way to do that with Moroko in the way.”

“Moroko protects the forest…” Kravitz says, slowly, “and you wanted to clear it away.”

“Well, yeah!” says Kohroku, surprised, “It made him angry, stranger. Like nothing I’d ever seen! Then Madam Director came along, with her warriors and her rifles. She made quick work of those stupid animals, I’ll tell you that.”

“Young man,” the old stall owner asks under his breath as Kohroku continues bragging, “what’s wrong? Has your arm been injured?”

Kravitz blinks and looks down to see that he has unconsciously been gripping his right arm, the muscles in his left standing out in stark relief from the strain.

“No,” he says, very softly, “I was thinking about Moroko. I was thinking how he must have died filled with hate.”

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

After they’ve finished their meal, Johan leads Kravitz into the large domed meeting hall in the center of town. Inside, a woman is seated behind a huge oak table cluttered with tools. She picks up a small hammer, her face solemn in concentration, and taps it against the little gray ball she holds in her hand. She listens for a moment, and then nods and hands the gray lump to a man waiting attentively by her side.

“That’s good iron, Leon,” she says, and stands, facing Kravitz.

“Thank you for bringing our guest, Johan,” she gives them a small smile, “you are dismissed.”

Johan bows slightly and goes the way he came, Leon following behind. Left alone with Madam Director herself, Kravitz’s first thought is that she’s nothing like he expected her to be. Nowhere near as old, for all that her hair is snow white, maybe in her late forties. Her skin is nearly as dark as his, her clothing simple and efficient, and her face is stern, yes, but there are laugh lines hiding in the corners of her mouth.

“Madam Director.” He says simply, inclining his head.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting, stranger,” she says lightly, “it’s good to finally meet you. You’ve caused quite a stir here; we don’t usually have so much gossip fodder. Some think you’re a spy for the Beasts, or the Emperor himself. There are a lot of people out there with their eyes on our iron.”

“My eyes are my own, lady,” Kravitz replies, and she pauses.

“Why are you here, if you don’t mind me asking?” she says, taking a step towards him. Kravitz reaches into his bag and pulls out the iron ball. It catches the light, glinting dully where it sits in his hand.

“My name is Kravitz, of the east,” he says, “and I think you may recognize this. It pierced the flesh of the giant bear, Moroko, turning him into a demon. I took his life, and for that I am cursed with a brand on my arm. Soon it will kill me.”

He pulls his shirtsleeve up, revealing the bare skin of his right arm. The Director flinches; only just, and her composure is back the next instant, but Kravitz sees. There is silence between them, as they both measure the other, silence that the director breaks first.

“Where in the east do you come from, exactly?” she asks hesitantly, glancing at his scythe and shorn hair, “my guard tells me you arrived with a red elk, I’ve never heard of one like it before.”

“I have come a very long way, Madam,” he says, “I can’t tell you anything more.”

“And what exactly do you plan to do now that you’re here?” she demands, her eyes narrowing a little.

“I am here because this land has been ravaged, Director,” Kravitz replies, holding her gaze, “I have come to mend it, if I can. To restore balance.”

She looks at him in wonder, for a moment that stretches out around them with a curious weight. Then, she sighs, and her shoulders sag just a little.

“Perhaps it would do me some good…” she mutters, almost to herself.

“Director?” Kravitz questions, confused, and she looks up, her face set like she’s made up her mind about something.

“Come with me,” she says, turning and walking towards the doors on the far right of the chamber without waiting to see if he comes along, “I’ll show you my secrets.”

She leads him out into the evening air. The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting shadows in front of them as Kravitz follows The Director through a beautiful garden, hemmed in on all sides by the massive walls of Irontown.

“This is my private place,” she says, glancing back at him while she walks, “no one is allowed in here, not even the guards.”

There is a strange, squat stone building at the back of the garden, built against the wall. As he follows The Director through the low door, he’s amazed to find the spacious room inside filled with people. There are various bedrolls and workbenches scattered around the room, and racks of tools and what must be prototype rifles lining the walls. A small man with red hair and a strange, high-necked jacket approaches them, bows slightly, and forms a series of symbols with his hands. The Director smiles fondly, and turns to Kravitz.

“Kravitz, I would like you to meet Davenport, my oldest friend. Dav, meet Kravitz. He’s come from lands to the east.”

Kravitz nods politely, and Davenport inclines his head back, and then turns and makes another series of symbols to The Director.

“Davenport would like to inspect your scythe, if that’s acceptable to you, Kravitz,” she says, and he slides his scythe from its holder and passes it to Davenport. He takes it almost reverently, running his fingers carefully along the edge and inspecting the gleaming wooden staff. He hands it back to Kravitz, beaming, and makes a gesture that Kravitz can understand even before The Director translates.

“He says it’s beautiful,” she confirms, “he’s never seen craftsmanship quite like it. Here, come see this.”

She leads him over to a worktable, where a man is sitting, tapping away at a rifle with a small-clawed hammer.

“We’ve only just finished it, Madam,” the man says, handing her the gun. She sets it to her shoulder and holds it there a moment, testing the weight of it, then frowns slightly and hands it back.

“Still too heavy,” she muses, and the man sighs.

“Madam, if we make them any lighter, they’ll crumble to pieces.”

“I am sorry to have to push you all so hard,” The Director says, not unkindly, “I’ll have some wine sent down later for you.” Noticing Kravitz’s questioning stare, she gestures to the rifle.

“They’re for the women here,” she says, “this is the latest model I’ve asked these people to design. This will kill forest monsters and pierce the thickest soldier’s armor.”

Kravitz has to fight to keep his lip from curling, the rage from before when he’d seen the burnt down forest boiling up inside him like some wild thing.

“First you steal Moroko’s forest from him, and turn him into a demon, and now you’re making even more weapons of death and destruction! How much more pain and hatred will you cause, Director?”

She clenches her fists by her sides and presses her lips together in a thin line.

“I did shoot the bear,” she says, her voice weighted down with something that may be regret, “and I am sorry for your fate. I truly am. My last wish is for any innocent person to suffer, but that is exactly what I am trying to prevent here, Kravitz, don’t you see?”

She beckons Davenport back over, and makes a wordless gesture towards her throat. Davenport gives her a questioning look, but she nods reassuringly, and he begins to unbutton his jacket.

“This is the reason I brought you here,” she says, “so that you can understand.”

Davenport pulls off his coat, and the breath catches in Kravitz’s throat. The skin of his throat is horribly mangled; wicked, puckered scar tissue trailing down the length of his neck to his collarbone.

“When the Emperor declared war against the Beasts,” she says quietly, “many villages were caught in the crossfire. Ours was no exception. The Emperor’s army burned it down, there was nothing left. Davenport… he barely escaped with his life. We fled, those of us that survived, farther west, out of the reach of the army, and found a little village near here protected by the mountains. There was a man- he healed Dav as best as he could, but still-" she breaks off, a terrible look on her face, and Davenport reaches out and takes her hand.

“He’ll never speak again,” she finishes, bitterly, “all these people, they’ve been ravaged by this war.”

Kravitz looks around the room, and realizes that a majority of the people crowded around at the worktables posses a physical impairment of some kind. Many are missing arms, legs, and fingers, even eyes. Some are horribly scarred. One shuffles forward, a man so badly burned that his left eye and ear have vanished into the scar tissue.

“Please, stranger,” he rasps, pointing a trembling hand at Kravitz’s arm, still uncovered and bearing the cursed mark, “like you, I know how rage feels, and grief, and helplessness. But our Madam Director, she is the only one who sees us as human beings. The rest of the world thinks us useless, cast us aside, but she took us in, gave us homes and work. In this world, the cycle of pain and killing seems to continue endlessly, but someday all things must end, mustn’t they? Young man?”

A gunshot rings out, startling everyone in the room, and Kravitz turns to see a woman leaning out a rectangular hole in the outer fortress wall, holding a smoking rifle to her shoulder.

“They just keep coming back, Madam,” she calls, and The Director shakes her head at Kravitz’s questioning look.

“The apes,” she says, by way of explanation, “they’re out there every night, planting trees, trying to turn the mountain back into a forest again.” She turns to him fully, a sudden, manic fervor in her eyes.

“Stay here with us, Kravitz,” she pleads, holding out a hand almost unconsciously, “you have great power. Stay, and help me kill the Forest Spirit.”

“You plan to kill the heart of the forest?” Kravitz chokes out in numb disbelief.

“Yes!” The Director says, eager, “Without that ancient god the animals here will be nothing but dumb beasts once more. When the woods have been cleared and those wolves wiped out, Irontown will become the most powerful stronghold in the world. We’ll have the resources to take in people from all across the land, east to west, and the Emperor will have no reach here. When the forest spirit is destroyed, his bid for god-hood goes with it, and he will die a mortal death, and rid the world of his plague. And then Princess Mononoke will finally become human.”

“Princess Mononoke?” Kravitz asks, reeling.

“Princess of the spirits of ghouls, beasts and ancient gods. She lives with the wolves in the forest, but she looks like a mortal girl. Her soul was stolen from her long ago, and now she lives to kill me.”

An image spring into Kravitz’s mind, crystalline sharp; sunlight reflecting off clear lake water and bloodstained white fur, and a girl, with a face more beautiful than any he’s seen, spitting blood and staring him down with eyes like an ocean trench.

“- the legends say the blood of the Great forest Spirit can heal anything,” The Director is saying, “perhaps it can cure Davenport. It may even be able to lift your curse, Kravitz.”

One of the men hands her another rifle, this one slimmer than the other, and she hefts it, lifting it onto her shoulder with practiced ease.

“Now this is perfect,” she says. She must see something in Kravitz’s face when she looks back at him, and she pauses for a moment, her eyes unreadable.

“The Emperor is a curse on this land, Kravitz,” she says at last, her voice clear with conviction, “and I plan to end him. To end this war, and to end the suffering of these people. And if I must kill God himself to ensure peace, well.” She takes a deep breath, and looks Kravitz directly in the eyes.

“I will do what must be done.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Kravitz wanders down the dark street leading away from Madam Director’s garden, alone with his chaotic thoughts. Irontown is nothing like he’d expected it to be, and this strange world he’s stumbled into has left him with more questions than answers. He wonders if perhaps he should have mentioned Magnus to The Director, but what good could it possibly have done? The Director- Lucretia. _She’s a good woman,_ he thinks, _good, and misguided. That makes her dangerous. She’s set in her path, I don’t know that anything could change her mind now._

“Hey, stud,” a voice calls out, and Kravitz looks up to see a figure standing by a stone fountain in the middle of a well lit square some thirty yards away, holding-

“Macha!” Kravitz cries joyfully, stepping forward.

“Is this your weird horse?” the person says, letting go of the reins so Macha can bound over to Kravitz and nose lovingly at the side of his face.

Kravitz laughs, pushing her muzzle away playfully, and steps into the lantern light, blinking for a moment as his eyes adjust.

“Thank you for returning my friend to me-” he begins, but when he takes a good look at the person standing just a few feet away, the breath rushes from his lungs.

“You!” he stammers, his heart thundering madly away in his ears, “How can you be here?”

The girl tilts her head to the side, some of her long golden hair pulling loose from her braid and tumbling over her shoulder. Dimly, Kravitz recalls that she’d had short hair when he’d seen her not three days ago, and a suspicion takes root in his mind.

“Have we met before, big guy?” she asks, curiously, and Kravitz realizes that the voice is slightly deeper, with more of a drawling, sing-song cadence. The clothes, too, are different, a green skirt with a white blouse and some sort of leather corset worn over the top, strung tightly to accentuate the tiny waist and lack of- lack of-

“See something good?” the girl drawls, smirking, and Kravitz blushes.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I did not intend…” he begins, but is cut off by an ugly snort of laughter.

“I’m sure your intentions are super honorable, dude, but I ain’t no lady,” the beautiful man says, amused. Mortified, Kravitz steps back, bowing his head in apology.

“I meant no disrespect,” he murmurs.

“Eh, none taken,” the man says, waving his hand carelessly, “the dress tends to throw people off. So,” he continues, playfully, “what’s your handle, handsome? You’re that stranger everybody’s been creaming themselves over all day, huh?”

“I’m Kravitz,” he replies, stroking a hand down Macha’s side to steady himself, “and you are?”

“The name’s Taako!” Taako says, flashing a grin so lovely that Kravitz is momentarily at a loss for words, “Now are you gonna come help me carry this water back, or what?”

Wordlessly, Kravitz goes to help, lifting the heavy buckets with ease.

“Oh, you’re going to be nice to have around,” Taako crows in delight.

“Taako,” Kravitz begins, testing the shape of the name against his tongue, “are you- you wouldn’t happen to have any… immediate family in these parts, would you?”

Taako frowns (a frown that somehow still manages to be beautiful on his face).

“Nope. Ch'boy’s an orphan, so, no family at all, actually. Why?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, thinks about it, and then quickly shuts it again.

“No reason, really,” he says, attempting carelessness, “you just… remind me of someone I knew. That’s all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes the bear god's name is moroko. yes i did look up the elvish name for bear. yes the fucking bear's name is bear. fight me in the street outside.


End file.
